


1934

by BucksomeBarnes (Freckled_Halos)



Series: The Before [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Also so much fluff, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Break Up, Crying, Day At The Beach, Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Sickfic, So much angst, Summer Love, Teenagers, Valentine's Day, so much crying lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 04:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15656217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freckled_Halos/pseuds/BucksomeBarnes
Summary: Valentine's Day doesn't go as planned for both Bucky and Steve, but not in the ways they would've thought.Steve has a sinus infection and Bucky just wants to take care of him.It's summertime and Steve and Bucky spend every day they can together, from beach trips to lazy days at home.Near the end of the year, Bucky starts to really think about his future...and if Steve is realistically going to be in it.





	1. February

FEBRUARY 1934

 

Steve propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at Bucky lying shirtless next to him.

“So, you have any exciting plans for Valentine’s Day?” Steve asked jokingly, setting a gentle hand on Bucky’s warm chest.

Bucky unexpectedly winced and averted his eyes, picking a bit of grime out from underneath a fingernail.

Steve looked at him with a cautious expression, removing his hand. “ _Do_ you have plans for tomorrow?”

Bucky sighed, setting his hands on his stomach, and turned his head to look out Steve’s bedroom window. The evening sunlight streamed in through the scratched glass, making the edges of Bucky’s hair and eyelashes glow gold. He squinted into the light, screwing up his face before letting out a long breath and turning back towards Steve.

Bucky gazed up at his face from the pillow. Steve’s eyes looked even more glittery than usual, the light hitting them at an angle that made them look green and translucent. His thick brown eyebrows were pulled together, soft lips lightly parted, warm and pink. It all broke Bucky’s heart.

“I do.”

Steve blinked at him a few times. “Which are…?”

Bucky paused, pressing his lips together. “With someone else.”

“Oh.” Steve leaned back, the shimmer in his eyes dulling. Bucky stared at his expression, trying and failing to decipher it.

Clearing his throat, Steve forced a smile. “Who with?”

“Just…some dame.”

Steve nodded. _Some dame._ Either it was someone Steve knew very well and Bucky was ashamed to tell him or it really was just _some dame_ whose name he didn’t think was pertinent information to share. Steve couldn’t decide which option felt worse. He really shouldn’t have expected anything different by this point. It had been over a year since they started…whatever this was and despite all they’ve gone through and all they’ve shared, there always seemed to be _some dame_.

“Okay,” Steve sighed, folding slightly in on himself before rolling off the mattress. He stepped to the armoire and opened it with a creak, pulling a t-shirt off the shelf and quickly slipping it on. He turned to Bucky and crossed his arms.

Steve was all skin and bones, standing there in a loose tee and boxy underwear. His expression looked neutral enough, but Bucky could tell by the look in his eyes that he was pissed off and very much done with Bucky’s company this evening. He got the message, easing up and off the bed with a grunt. He picked his shirt and pants up off the floor and quickly pulled them on, trying to not think about all the stupid decisions he’d been making lately. Bucky avoided Steve’s gaze and smoothed down his hair.

“Will I see you at all tomorrow or should I give you your gift now?” Steve asked genuinely, but icy.

“My what?”

“Let me just give it to you,” Steve sighed, scratching at the corner of one of his eyes.

He walked to the opposite side of the bed from Bucky and crouched down, pulling a small box out from underneath the frame. He handed it across the bed, looking at Bucky with intense eyes.

Bucky took the box tentatively and opened it. His eyebrows furrowed. “Are these hand wraps?” He asked, looking at Steve with a pained expression.

“You keep talkin’ about wanting to start boxing, so I thought…” he shrugged, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

It was too thoughtful. It was too perfect and Bucky felt like the world’s most massive asshole. What the hell was he doing? Messing around with a new girl every few weeks and for what? The thrill? Compensating for the shame and fear he felt when he thought about how much he cared for Steve? It was an awful thing to do, especially to someone as kind as Steve Rogers, but he just couldn’t stop himself.

Bucky pressed the back of a hand against his forehead, closing his eyes. After taking a deep breath, he reopened them, forcing himself to meet Steve’s gaze. Both of their eyes were glassy.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to.”

“How much did these cost?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“But I didn’t…” Bucky grimaced and dropped his head, his stomach roiling with embarrassment and inadequacy.

Bucky didn’t deserve any of this. He didn’t deserve _Steve_. And maybe that’s part of the reason he resisted his feelings so vehemently. Bucky had always been cool, calm, and collected, oozing confidence and dominance since he was old enough to be aware of it. Girls always liked him. He never had a problem finding a date or making the right moves. But none of the girls he had ever been with got his heart racing like Steve did. None of them made Bucky feel so happy or so bad. Girls were easy and safe. They were just no strings attached, casual outings, and sweet-tasting kisses.   

When it came to Steve, he felt uncertain and insecure. The strength of Bucky’s feelings scared him and the pressure of needing to make Steve happy made Bucky feel like he’d never be enough. He’d never be able to give Steve everything he deserved, so why pretend like he could?

“Steve, I…” Bucky shook his head and looked from Steve’s eyes, to the box, then back to Steve. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t enough. It didn’t convey anywhere near the amount of what he was feeling and it was suddenly all too much.

“I should go,” he breathed frantically, clutching the box tightly to his chest and bounding around the foot of the bed.

“Buck—”

He grabbed the knob and swung the door open, pausing to give Steve a long, light kiss on the forehead. And then he was gone, through the hall, out the door, and down the street. Bucky rubbed roughly at his sniffling nose. He should cancel his stupid plans tomorrow. He should be spending Valentine’s Day with his… _what_? What were he and Steve? What the hell were they still doing? Regardless of what it was, Steve bought Bucky an extremely nice and thoughtful gift and what did Bucky do? Plan the night with someone else. What a colossal jerk.

Bucky asked the girl out because he felt like he _should_. It was just the thing you were supposed to do. He and a few of his baseball pals all agreed to meet up at the cinema with their dates where they could sit in the dark and neck each other. Then they’d go out for milkshakes and part ways, trying to not be the guy who didn’t go home with his gal.

Thinking about it now made bile rise in Bucky’s throat. It was awful. It was all terrible and pointless and superficial. What he had with Steve was anything but that. Steve was real and honest and raw. Steve made Bucky think about himself and about life in ways he never would have on his own. Steve made him better. Steve was what mattered and Bucky had trampled all over that, just trying to fit in and pretend like he wasn’t already madly in love with his best friend.

\--

The next day, Bucky woke up melancholy, listening to the sounds of his mother making breakfast downstairs. When he finally dragged himself out of bed and got dressed, both Mrs. Barnes and Becca were at the dining room table, eating. His mother had cut the toast and fried eggs into festive hearts, but it just made Bucky sick to look at.  

He and Rebecca left for school, walking as far together as their paths took them before parting. Bucky lingered at the train station, waiting for Steve. He eventually showed up, quiet and withdrawn.  

“Hey,” Bucky called.

Steve did try to smile at least, Bucky was grateful of that. “Hey.”

They took each other’s hands in greeting, holding on for longer than any normal handshake should have taken. Fingers lingering against each other, Bucky cleared his throat and Steve bit his lip.

The rest of the day went terribly. Everywhere Bucky looked, people were wearing pink and red and holding hands and kissing in the hallways and flirting and being together. It made Bucky sick with guilt. He purposefully caught the train after his usual time to avoid seeing Steve and his big blue eyes.

The date ended up going fine. She really was just some dame that was a cousin of one of Bucky’s friends. They went to the movie with four other couples and made out for a while in the darkness. As per the plan, the ten of them went to the soda fountain for milkshakes, wooing and flirting. As each couple filtered out of the shop to go who knows where, Bucky got more and more overcome with dread.  

His date looked sadly at him. She knew he wasn’t having a good time and politely asked if he would just walk her home and call it a night. Bucky was extremely grateful for it and did just that, kissing her on the cheek in her front doorway before turning on his heel and heading towards home.

The sun was setting, cold and low, sending a chill through Bucky’s bones. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, head swimming with thoughts about Steve. He closed his eyes, a few people bumping and swerving around him. Bucky felt terrible. But the more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Maybe he doesn’t feel like he deserves Steve because he’s been acting like a total goon. Maybe if Bucky actually stepped up and tried to be the person he thought Steve deserved, he wouldn’t feel so inadequate.  

Coming to a conclusion, Bucky turned and headed straight to the candy shop. He bought everything he knew Steve liked, Reese’s, Heath bars, Lifesavers, and caramels, adding two packages of candy hearts just to be festive. Carrying the paper bag full of sweets, Bucky felt increasingly better about his evening. He thought about the look on Steve’s face when he would tap on his bedroom window, thought about the feeling of Steve pressed up against him. He sighed wistfully.

Bucky approached the Rogers’ apartment building, walking around the corner to the fire escape. He looked up towards Steve’s window. The light was off. His confidence faltered a little, but he figured Steve was probably just in the kitchen or living room with Sarah.

He skipped up the steps, two at a time and knocked on their front door.

Mrs. Rogers’ opened it, slightly taken aback. “James? What are you doing here on Valentine’s Day?”

Bucky tried not to blush as he cleared his throat. “I just had some extra candy I thought Steve would like.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Sarah started. “I’ll go ahead and put it in the kitchen.” She reached out her hand to take the paper bag.

Bucky looked at her, eyebrows furrowed. “I thought we could share some right now, if it’s alright with you that I visit.”

Mrs. Rogers looked at Bucky with a confused face. “Oh, no, honey, Steve isn’t home.”

“He’s not?” It came out faster and louder than Bucky intended and he immediately regretted it.

“I figured he would have told you,” she said, sympathetic. “He finally agreed to take out my friend, Helen’s, niece. I’ve only been trying to convince him for months now.” Mrs. Rogers smiled cordially.

Bucky forced a smile back. “Now that you mention it, I think he did say something. Must’ve just forgotten.” Bucky reluctantly handed the bag over, his throat tightening.  

“I’ll let him know you stopped by.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Rogers.”

She smiled kindly at him and closed the door as Bucky turned and slumped towards the steps.

It was too late. _He_ was too late. Bucky leaned against the brick wall and slid down, landing heavily on one of the metal steps. He let his head fall into his hands and tried not to cry. This was bound to happen. Who was Bucky to think that he could get away with doing the exact same thing, but Steve couldn’t? Obviously Bucky saw the value and beauty in Steve for exactly who he was, but Bucky was selfishly glad no one else had yet. It was a terrible thing to think, but it was the truth. Steve didn’t owe him anything, Bucky knew that, but that didn’t make the sting of jealously hurt any less.

Easing himself up, Bucky wiped at his nose and shoved his hands in his pockets, walking slowly home.

\--

Bucky waited for Steve at the train station the following morning. When he finally walked up, Bucky was unfairly irritated at how light and happy he looked.

“Morning,” Steve greeted when he finally reached Bucky.

“Morning,” Bucky answered, trying and failing to seem aloof.

Steve tried not to frustratingly roll his eyes. It was awful, but part of Steve felt satisfyingly smug. When he had gotten home last night after having shared a light kiss with Nurse Helen’s niece, his mother had told him Bucky stopped by. She said he was acting a little strange, but left a big bag of sweets for him. Steve was never a tit-for-tat kind of person, but the green-eyed monster in him felt like he had gotten even somehow. Finally, Bucky was the one who had to watch Steve go out with some girl and have fun without him. He felt guilty about it, of course, knowing how much it hurt him to see Bucky doing the same thing, but what was he supposed to do? Bucky made it glaringly obvious that _he_ didn’t want to spend Valentine’s Day with Steve, but there was someone who did. Didn’t Steve deserve that? Shouldn’t Steve have gals fawning over him too? It was only fair, right?

Letting out an irritated breath, Steve crossed his arms. “Will you come over tonight?”

“You aren’t busy?” Bucky shot back.

Steve glared at him with pursed lips. “Will you?”

Bucky tried glaring back, but couldn’t muster it. Defeated, he answered, “Yeah, of course.”

They didn’t talk for the entire train ride, the walk into school, any time during the day, or during the trip home. Coming up to the corner where their paths diverged, Steve just said, “I’ll leave the window unlatched” before walking away.

\--

Bucky had half a mind to not show up, just out of spite. But the second he had the thought, he regretted it and cursed himself for being so petty and inconsiderate. It was well past dark and cold out, a dry wind blowing at Bucky’s coat.

He rounded the apartment building and jumped up to grab the bottom rung on the lowest ladder. He pulled his way up, stepping carefully to Steve’s window where a warm orange glow peeked out through the curtains. The phonograph was playing in his room again, tinny and muffled. Bucky crept up, bracing his hands against the glass and slowly sliding the window open.

The wind whipped at the curtains and Bucky practically fell inside in his hurry to shut the window and keep the cold out. Turning around, he saw Steve sitting cross-legged on his bed, watching him with an eyebrow raised.

“Hey,” Bucky breathed, sliding down to sit on the floor, setting his forearms on splayed bent knees.

“Hey.”

“Listen, Steve—”

“No, _you_ listen,” Steve interrupted, pointing a hand in Bucky’s direction. “You have no right— _no right_ —to be mad at me about last night.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t know what kind of stunt you were trying to pull, coming here with all these after-thought treats, but it’s not fair, Bucky. It’s not goddamn fair.”

“It wasn’t a stunt,” Bucky fired back, clenching his fists. “I just…I had a real messed up night and I wanted to see you.”

“And you just guessed I’d be home, huh? Cryin’ into my soup because if I wasn’t with you, there’s no possible way I could be spendin’ time with anyone else, right?”

Bucky stared, taken aback by Steve’s intensity and bluntness. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

They looked painfully at each other.

Steve took a breath in and crossed his arms. “Look, I’m sorry your grand gesture didn’t work out, but I don’t need your pity, Bucky.”

Offended and hurt, Bucky replied, “You think that’s what this is about? Me takin’ pity on you and _that’s_ why I came by?”

“Why else would you?”

Bucky stared at Steve, unbelieving. “D’you honestly have to ask me that?”

Steve flared his nostrils and looked away, shaking his head.

“Like I said,” Bucky started, firm. “I had a real messed up night last night and I wanted to see you.”

“So you thought you’d come here, bribe me with candy, and get a suck-off out of it?”

Bucky balked at Steve, shocked. “ _What? No._ Steve, how could you even say that?” Bucky’s voice cracked and Steve immediately felt guilty for being so brusque.

Steve shut his eyes and let his head fall into his hands. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, muffled.

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” Bucky responded, standing to walk over to the bed, settling down next to Steve. “It wasn’t right of me to assume you’d be waitin’ at home alone just because I had other things goin’ on.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Steve answered, rubbing roughly at his nose.

Bucky took a long breath in and out, closing his eyes.

“Listen,” Steve started, almost inaudibly. “I…I’m carryin’ a real torch for you, Buck. And I don’t wanna hurt you, but I don’t like this. I don’t like feeling like we only get together when it’s convenient for you.”

Bucky looked painfully at Steve who was staring intently at his hands wrung up in his lap. “You know you’re my best guy, Steve,” Bucky answered, quiet and genuine.

Steve raised his head, meeting Bucky’s eyes with an expression that was equal parts hurt and defiance. “Then treat me like it.”

Bucky had no response.

It was true. Regardless of whatever else was going on with them, Bucky had been a real terrible friend and it was time he made up for it.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky said again, voice trembling. “I know. I’m sorry.” He dropped his face into his hands and took a shaky breath.

Steve looked painfully at him. Bucky’s hair wasn’t slicked back today, he just noticed. It was soft and brown, parted on the side, dense waves falling over his wide hands. Bucky’s fingers were thick and stout, tanned even in winter and dotted with freckles. Steve imagined them placed gently on his face and sliding slowly around his body. He closed his eyes, trying to remember why he was mad.

Wordless, Steve reopened his eyes and pulled lightly at Bucky’s hands, exposing his pink face, streaked with quiet tears. He brushed Bucky’s bangs back and set his hand on the side of his face. Bucky felt awful, Steve could tell. He could see the guilt and regret all over his face and even though it didn’t excuse everything he had done that hurt Steve, he was punishing himself enough.

Steve smiled sadly and leaned in, giving Bucky a slow, sweet kiss. Bucky was still for a moment before kissing back, placing one of his hands on Steve’s upper thigh.

Pulling away and ducking his head, Steve gently pushed Bucky’s hand off his leg. “My mom’s home.”

Bucky chewed on his lip and nodded, rubbing the back of his hand at his nose. “I shouldn’t stay too long, then,” he said.

Steve felt conflicted. Obviously, he wanted Bucky to stay. He always wanted Bucky to stay to curl up against and fall asleep next to, but he was right. Besides, Steve told himself earlier in the evening that he would stand his ground. Steve loved Bucky with his whole heart, but he was still hurt and angry. Tonight wasn’t the time to pretend like it was all okay.

“Yeah, probably,” Steve answered.

“Steve, are we…are we okay?”

Bucky looked at him with wide, wet eyes, an expression in them that broke Steve’s heart.

Steve sighed. “We will be.”

Nodding slowly, Bucky sniffed and cleared his throat. He stood up, running a hand through his hair before grabbing a tissue off of Steve’s nightstand. He blew his nose and shoved the tissue into his coat pocket.

“We still on for sodas tomorrow after school?” Bucky asked, not looking at Steve.

“Yeah, alright.”

“Okay.” Finally looking up, Bucky said, “’Night. Sleep sweet, Steve.”

Steve’s throat tightened. “Sleep sweet, Buck.”

Bucky nodded again and went to the window, sliding it open sending the wind howling through Steve’s room again. He slipped out quickly and shut it behind him as Steve sat watching.

He knew he’d forgive Bucky for everything, he always did. Whether that was right or fair was another question entirely. Steve sighed and stood to close the curtains, swallowing hard. Since when did he become such a push over? No, that’s not quite it. For as long as he could remember, Steve was on the defensive around pretty much everyone, all the time, but Bucky was different. From the moment they met, Bucky was different. Steve had leaned into the feeling, whether he wanted to or not, resigning to the reality that Bucky would always make him weak. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but in the kind of way that meant Steve got hurt a lot and he always let it happen.

It wasn’t what Steve deserved, he knew that. He knew it and ignored it every damn day. In times like this, a tiny voice in his head would say that Steve should just move on. If Bucky would never give up this cycle of girls to Steve to girls again, Steve needed to end it. Whatever “it” was. But every time, immediately after he had the thought, Steve would push it away. If his options were no Bucky or some Bucky, Steve would always choose some Bucky. Even if it hurt him in the long run, even if it wasn’t fair, even if Steve deserved to be committed to, _some Bucky_ would always win.


	2. April

APRIL 1934

                     

When Steve didn’t show up at the street corner Monday morning, Bucky was concerned, but not surprised. For the entire past two weeks he had been sniveling and sneezing, telling Sarah and Bucky very heatedly that he was just fine and it was just a cold and it’d go away in just a few days.

Upon leaving the Rogers’ on Saturday, Bucky was sure that not only had Steve not gotten better, but he was worse, seemingly coming down with a full-blown sinus infection. Bucky had hoped it was just a particularly bad day for his cold, but standing at their corner now, alone, told him it wasn’t.

He stopped by to check on Steve every day after school and every day, Sarah would let him and Steve wave at each other from across the living room before making Bucky go home. Steve was tired and needed rest and she claimed that Bucky coming over always “riled Steve up.” Bucky had to hide his smile when she told him that, but politely obeyed, walking home disappointed every time.

On Thursday, when Bucky knocked on their front door, no one answered. Testing the knob, the door was unlocked and Bucky peeked his head in.

“Mrs. Rogers? Steve?”

“Kitchen,” a thick voice called.

Bucky glanced to the left where Steve’s loafers were lying abandoned on the floor. Sarah’s white nurse shoes were missing which was enough to convince Bucky that she was working that afternoon. He stepped all the way through the door and locked it behind him, kicking off his own shoes and setting down his books.

He walked through the living room and into the kitchen to find Steve leaning over a pot of simmering water, a dish towel draped over his head.

“How you feeling?” He asked.

Steve glanced over, the towel resting on his hair like a bad habit veil. Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at the sight and Steve gave him a pouty look.

“Stop laughing at me,” Steve complained amusedly, sounding painfully congested.

“I’m going to assume, then, that you aren’t feelin’ much better,” Bucky raised his eyebrows and stepped into the kitchen, placing a warm hand onto Steve’s back.

Steve shook his head and stood up straight, pulling the towel off. He was a wreck. His hair was a mess and it looked like he hadn’t changed out of his pajamas in days. His eyes were leaky, nose bright red, and face puffy. Bucky rubbed his hand in light circles, Steve closing his eyes and humming in response.

“What do you need?” Bucky asked, scratching along Steve’s spine.

“Nothing,” he replied, stubborn. “I’m fine, Buck.”  

“No you’re not,” Bucky started gently. “Just let me take care of you for a little while, okay?”

The look in Bucky’s eyes was soft, but resolute and for once in his life, Steve was too tired to argue.

“I’m a little hungry,” Steve murmured shyly.

“Okay,” Bucky said, excitedly, happy to have a helpful task at hand. “Sit.” He led Steve to the kitchen table and gently pushed him down onto a chair.

Opening their cupboard, Bucky perused the various cans and boxes inside.

“How about some Campbell’s vegetable soup?” He asked Steve in a radio-show voice, holding the can up like he was in an advertisement. Steve huffed out a laugh and nodded. Bucky got a pot, putting it on the burner that the simmering water was on, and opened the can of soup, pouring it in to heat. Steve coughed wetly into his arm.

Going back to the cupboard, Bucky asked, “crackers?”

“Sure.”

Bucky got out a plate and bowl, neatly laying the crackers out in a circle, placing the bowl in the middle. The soup didn’t take long to heat up and Bucky soon ladled a generous helping into the bowl, grabbed a spoon and set it all in front of Steve.  

He looked up at Bucky with tired eyes, smiling. “Thanks, Buck.”

“My pleasure,” he responded, sitting down across from Steve. He put an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his palm.

“You just gonna watch me eat?” Steve teased.

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you,” Bucky joked, leaning back in his chair.

Steve rolled his eyes as he slurped tentatively at the steaming bowl.

When he was finished, Bucky did the dishes and directed Steve to change his pajamas and lie down. After the kitchen was clean, Bucky walked into Steve’s room to find him flopped out on the bed. Bucky approached him gently, placing the back of his hand on Steve’s forehead.

“You’re burning up,” Bucky said, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Jus’ a fever,” Steve mumbled, eyes closed.

“Sit up,” Bucky ordered, poking Steve’s side until he obliged. Getting a few throw pillows from the sofa, Bucky shoved them underneath Steve’s pillow, propping him upright. Then, Bucky walked to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with cold water, folding it up and returning to Steve’s bedroom to lay it on his forehead.

Steve made a face when the cool compress hit his face, but soon relaxed, sighing.

Bucky sat perched on the edge of the bed, facing Steve, one hand on his forehead, the other gently running the back of his fingers along Steve’s warm cheek. Steve coughed again and Bucky sprung up, going to the kitchen to get him a glass of water.

“Do you want any tea? Would that make you feel a little less stuffed up?”

Steve shook his head the tiniest amount, eyes closed. “’M fine, Buck.” He let out a long, hot breath, quietly adding, “Will you jus’ stay with me for a little while?”

“Of course,” Bucky whispered, easing back down onto the bed.

Steve shifted a fraction to give Bucky some more room as he sat down next to him. Bucky propped himself up on his side and slung one arm across the stack of pillows behind Steve’s head. With his free hand, he found one of Steve’s to grasp.

Steve smiled faintly, squeezing Bucky’s hand the tiniest amount before letting out another long sigh and smacking his lips together. It wasn’t long until he slipped into a dead sleep, mouth open and breaths gravely. Bucky let out a heavy sigh, running his thumb along Steve’s pink knuckles. His other hand played lightly with Steve’s damp bangs, pulling them gently out from underneath the cold compress. Bucky ran his fingernails lightly along Steve’s hairline and around his scalp, scratching and massaging gently.

Looking down at Steve’s flushed and stuffed up face, Bucky’s stomach leapt. He looked awful, sickly and sad, leaking out of his plugged up nose and taking loud, rumbly breaths with his slack mouth. And yet, Bucky was overwhelmed with emotion. It was one thing to be physically exposed to each other, kissing and feeling, but it was another to be emotionally exposed and Bucky felt like he was looking in on a very private moment. Steve was weak and vulnerable, something Bucky knew he hated, and the fact that Steve trusted Bucky to be by his side touched him in a way he didn’t expect.

Bucky had always felt protective of Steve whether that was physically, saving him from uneven fights, or emotionally, not wanting Steve to ever hurt or want for anything. It was that second part that Bucky had the most trouble with. Fighting he could do. That was easy. The hard part was giving Steve everything Bucky knew he deserved. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he never felt like he had enough to give. He never felt like his care and affection would ever be up to where he thought it should—to where Steve deserved.

Sometimes, it made him want to stop trying. Sometimes when he was extra frustrated and down on himself, Bucky just wanted to give up. Take the easy route. It was during those lows that he would find some girl to take out or just fool around with, knowing he didn’t have to be emotionally invested in them. But, inevitably, he’d miss Steve every time and come crawling back, needy and wanting.

He knew it wasn’t fair. He knew that by doing it he was very pointedly doing exactly what prompted his actions in the first place. It was a vicious cycle. By running away from just _trying_ to be what Steve deserved, he was doing exactly what he knew Steve very much _didn’t_ deserve, which then made him want to run away from it all over again. It was messed up and complicated and Bucky hated it.

Looking down at Steve now, it broke his heart.

Bucky just needed to try his best, no matter what. Even if it seemed impossible or terrifying, Bucky knew that Steve just wanted him to try and to commit. Shouldn’t that be easy enough? At least if Steve eventually came to his senses and decided to be finished with him, Bucky would know that he had given it his all. Up until this point, Bucky knew he hadn’t been, purely out of fear and insecurity, but it was past time he changed that.

\--

When Steve blinked awake, mouth tingly and full of cotton, he saw Bucky resting next to him, asleep. They were impossibly close and Steve’s eyes roamed around Bucky’s peaceful face. His sweet lips were parted softly, chest rising and falling with each deep breath he took. Steve wanted to just keep looking at him, but his mouth was desperate for water. After removing the washcloth from his forehead, Steve carefully leaned over, reaching to his nightstand, getting even closer to Bucky’s gentle face. Steve could feel Bucky’s warm breath ghost across his neck as he grabbed the glass of water, slowly bringing it back over Bucky’s side, trying to not spill it or wake him up.

Steve gulped the water down, greedily, nearly pouring it down his chest. It was too quick and some of it went down the wrong way, immediately launching Steve into a coughing fit that woke Bucky with a start.

He rubbed at his eyes, sitting up, frantically asking, “Are you okay?”

Steve nodded as he coughed, motioning to his throat.

Bucky rubbed circles into Steve’s back as he calmed down, taking smaller sips out of the glass.

“What time is it?” Bucky mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Looking at the light coming through his bedroom window, Steve guessed, “Seven? Eight?”

“When will your mom be home?”

“Buck, you don’t have to stay with me. I can take care of myself,” Steve said.

“But I want to,” he replied.

Steve put a warm palm on Bucky’s cheek. “She should be home around ten.”

“Do you need anything?” Bucky asked, leaning into Steve’s hand. “Want anything?”

Shaking his head, Steve sighed. “Just you.”

Bucky blushed the slightest amount and looked down to the mattress, smiling. “That’s the fever talkin.’”

“No, ‘s not,” Steve yawned.

Bucky pursed his lips, but didn’t reply.

Steve finally agreed to a cup of tea and after Bucky had boiled and brewed some, he drizzled a healthy amount of honey in it to help soothe Steve’s throat. He brought the steaming mug slowly into Steve’s room, handing it to him with a “careful, it’s hot!”

Sipping tentatively, Steve sighed happily at the warmth and thanked Bucky.

“We still have an hour or two before your mom gets home and kicks me out,” Bucky smiled. “What do you want to do?”

Steve hugged the mug to his chest and thought for a moment. “Would you…” He stopped, blushing.

“What?” Bucky asked, encouragingly. “Tell me what you need, Steve, whatever it is.”

Shaking his head, Steve mumbled quickly, “Never mind. It’s silly.”

“No, it’s not,” Bucky immediately replied.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say,” Steve grumbled back.

Sighing, Bucky said, “Doesn’t matter. Nothing that makes you feel better when you’re sick is silly.”  

Steve glanced up at him, flushing deeper. “Would you read to me? I’ve been wanting to, but my eyes get so tired and I just don’t have the energy—”

Without a second thought, Bucky smiled wide. “What d’you want to hear?”

Steve motioned over to the nightstand and Bucky turned around, moving a box of Kleenex and Steve’s sketchbook out of the way to find a book stacked underneath them. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

“Sherlock Holmes?”

Steve shrugged, letting out a congested, “I’ve been craving the taste of mysteries, my dear Watson.”

Bucky laughed lightly and settled in next to Steve, flipping to the dog-eared page. He read aloud for an hour and a half until Steve started nodding off again. Marking the page, Bucky set the book down and took the cold mug out of Steve’s weak hands.

“Why’d you stop?” Steve slurred, eyes closed, almost asleep.

“You don’t wanna miss the important stuff, do you?” Bucky asked, running his fingers through Steve’s greasy hair.

Steve grumbled something Bucky couldn’t understand, but it was probably snarky.

“And it’s almost ten,” Bucky whispered. “I should get going.”

“No,” Steve groaned, rolling towards him and slinging an arm over Bucky’s torso.

Bucky looked sadly at Steve’s pink face, listening to his wet breaths. “I’ll come back tomorrow, right after school. And I’ll stay the whole weekend if you haven’t gotten tired of me by then.”

Steve unevenly blinked his eyes open, looking at Bucky with a glazed over expression. “You will? You don’t got other stuff goin’ on?”

“Of course not,” Bucky responded, massaging up and down Steve’s arm that was slung around him. “Not when you’re right here.”

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve sighed wistfully. 

The tone in his voice made Bucky’s stomach flip and heart jump. It also made him slightly wary. “Go back to sleep, Steve. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Steve hummed as he rolled onto his back, propped up on the pillows. Bucky leaned over and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead before easing off the bed and slipping quietly out of Steve’s room. He brought the mug with him, washing it in the kitchen before picking up his books, stepping into his shoes and out the front door.

\--

It wasn’t until Sunday evening that Steve finally began feeling better. It even seemed like he would be back at school the next day. As promised, Bucky had stayed with him all weekend, spending the nights on the couch and the days happily with Steve, reading, playing games, or listening to the radio. Mrs. Rogers definitely didn’t approve of any of it, knowing how much Bucky got Steve’s energy up, but she could also see that forbidding it was a losing battle. And if Bucky made Steve feel better, well, then wasn’t it just fine?

As Bucky was repacking his overnight bag in the living room, Steve sat folded up on the sofa, watching.

“I had a real nice weekend,” Bucky said, eyeing Steve with a playful look.

“Ha ha,” Steve mocked. “You don’t have t' lie to me, Buck. I know how it is.”

Bucky paused. “I’m serious. It’s a real shame that you were feelin’ so bad, but it was swell, spending so much time with you, just doin’ nothin.’”

Steve looked down to his hands and smiled. “You wanna do nothin’ again next weekend?”

Bucky laughed as he took a few steps to stand in front of Steve. They could faintly hear Sarah in her room, getting ready for bed. Glancing down the hallway quickly, Bucky turned back to Steve and leaned down to give him a quiet kiss.

“’Nothin’’ sounds great.”  

Steve smiled up at him. He was still a bit sniffly, but his eyes were clearer radiated pure joy as he gazed at Bucky.

Bumping Steve’s chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger, Bucky slung the bag over his shoulder and made his way to the door.

Before stepping out completely, Bucky looked back to Steve. “Keep drinkin’ fluids and get a good night’s sleep tonight, okay? I better see you on the corner tomorrow morning,” he added, teasingly stern.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Steve scoffed back, flapping his hand around in the air.

They gave each other one last smile before Bucky finally slipped out the door.

 


	3. Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably my favorite piece to write out of this entire series lol I've always been weak for the summer romance trope

SUMMER 1934

 

Bucky was set to start his senior year of high school in the fall and it sent him into a panic. Mr. Barnes wanted Bucky to become an engineer like him, to ensure him a “respectable and comfortable future,” but that was the last thing Bucky wanted to do. The job itself probably wouldn’t be too bad, and Bucky was definitely smart enough to finish the education he would need, but the thought of becoming his father was one Bucky never wanted to entertain. Mr. Barnes wasn’t mean or cruel, but he was cold and distant—always busy with something and not very interested in his or Becca’s lives and interests.

Steve kept telling Bucky that he’d make a swell engineer if he wanted to, but would also make a swell anything else, which was always exactly what Bucky needed to hear. Steve always knew the right things to say. Anytime Bucky was starting to get too stressed or worried, Steve suggested they do something fun instead, so they spent much of the summer at amusement parks, on the beach, or getting milkshakes.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Steve asked, bringing Bucky back to the present.

He looked over at Steve who was lying on his stomach on the blanket next to him, squinting in the sunlight.

Bucky sighed and leaned back on his hands, sinking into the sand as he crossed his outstretched legs. “Life.”

Steve laughed and rolled to his back, draping his removed shirt over his eyes. “And how’s that sittin’ with you?”

“Not good,” Bucky chuckled back, glancing down at Steve’s body. He was splayed out, arms relaxed, looking beautiful in his dark blue belted shorts and tight tank top. His collarbones were accentuated by the straps of his bathing suit, ribs curving visibly as he took deep, calm breaths. Sometimes Bucky was afraid to get too rough with Steve while they were fooling around, but Steve was quick to squash that. His limbs may be spindly, wrists and ankles just too small for the size of his hands and feet, but he was tough and had no qualms pushing Bucky around when he wanted to.

Steve picked up a corner of his shirt and eyed Bucky from underneath. “You wanna talk about it?”

Bucky sighed and looked around, face screwed up in the sunlight. For such a hot day, there weren’t too many people at the small Brooklyn beach they were at. Groups of teens, families, and young couples dotted the sand, yelling and laughing. Bucky listened to a few waves crash before answering.

“I’m just nervous is all.”

“You still have a full year of school left, Buck. Don’t let worryin’ about what’ll happen after ruin your whole summer.”

He glanced back at Steve who was still looking at him from the shade of his shirt. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Let’s just…” Steve’s voice turned a touch more serious. “Let’s just have a nice time while we can, huh?”

Steve didn’t need to explicitly say that that applied to more than just their adventures this summer—they were both already thinking it. Thinking about how unsure their futures looked, both independently and together. But especially together.

Steve cleared his throat, getting Bucky’s attention back. “Hey, why don’t you go get us a couple-a ice creams?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.

“Yeah, alright,” Bucky smiled, standing up and brushing sand off his trunks before walking away.

Steve’s face fell as he sighed. ‘Let’s just have a nice time while we can.’ If Steve and Bucky’s relationship could be summed up in one sentence, it might just be that one.

He craned his neck, watching Bucky approach the nearest concessions stand. From looking at him, you’d never guess how unsure he had been feeling lately. He strutted up to the counter, confidently, tight butt jiggling with each long step. Running his hands through damp hair, Bucky stood with his hands resting low on his hips, completely oblivious to the gaggle of girls ogling him from behind. Steve smiled smugly to himself.

Since their conversation after Valentine’s Day, Bucky hadn’t gone out with anyone but Steve. They hadn’t explicitly discussed it since, but Steve knew and had to remind himself to not feel guilty about it. Steve trusted Bucky, he did, and knew he was grown up enough to make his own decisions, but a small part of Steve was constantly afraid he had somehow pressured Bucky into something he didn’t want. He knew it was silly. If he said any of that to Bucky, Steve knew he’d scoff and laugh and brush it off with a kiss, calling him sweet names all the while. But still, sometimes Steve wondered.

Bucky came sauntering back, holding two ice cream cones already melting in the June sun. He handed the vanilla one to Steve and kept the chocolate one for himself, licking long drips of it off the back of his hand. Sitting up, Steve ran his tongue along the edge, catching all the melting ice cream before it fell into his lap. He caught Bucky staring and looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, smirking.

After finishing their cones, Steve and Bucky lounged in the sand for a little while longer before taking one last dip in the cool water. After a sarcastic comment from Steve, Bucky looked at him with fake offence before chasing him into the water. Steve yelped as Bucky grabbed him around the waist and whirled around, falling backwards into the water.

They both burst out from underwater, gasping with laughter. Bucky ran his hands along his head, slicking his hair back as Steve rubbed at his eyes. They splashed at each other, giggling, trying not to be too touchy where others could see. Bucky relaxed, leaning backwards to float with his head and toes peeking up into the air. Steve lowered down next to him until just his head was exposed and took Bucky’s hand in the murky water. Bucky squeezed and ran his thumb over Steve’s knuckles.

“You about ready to get home?” He asked, looking tenderly at Steve’s long, wet eyelashes.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed.

They stood back up, Bucky getting in a quick squeeze of Steve’s butt before they got to shallower water. They pulled on t-shirts and loafers before shaking out and folding the blankets, Steve draping them over an arm. The beach wasn’t too far from their respective neighborhoods, but Steve and Bucky made their way to the train station anyway, to take the short ride home.

Bucky was gripping onto a handhold above him, Steve an upright pole adjacent, as a group of girls, also coming from the beach, walked into the car. Steve thought one of them looked vaguely familiar and realized they were the same group who had been eyeing Bucky at the concessions stand.

“Excuse me,” the tallest one said, walking up and tucking a piece of red hair behind her ear.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Bucky replied, stepping aside.

“Oh, no,” she laughed lightly, looking at him, standing a few inches above Steve. “I mean, I saw you on the beach today and…has anyone told you you look like Clark Gable?”

Steve let out a loud, irritated sigh and aggressively rolled his eyes. Yes, yes someone has. And he was standing right there.  

Bucky opened his mouth, glancing to Steve before looking back at her. “I, uh…thank you.”

“Do you go to school around here?” She asked, eyes roaming around Bucky in a way that made Steve’s chest tighten.

“George Washington,” he said clipped, but polite.

“You don’t say? So do we.” She motioned back at her three pals, grouped together and staring. “What’s your name?”

“Bucky,” he answered simply. Very intentionally he turned and placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “And this is Steve.”

The tall one looked down at Steve with an empty expression, glancing back towards her friends, then again to Bucky.

 “I’m Catherine,” she said, placing a hand on her chest. Pointing she added, “that’s Sarah, Dottie, and Carolyn.”

Bucky smiled at them as they each waved lightly.

“Well, hopefully we’ll see you around, Bucky,” Catherine smirked as the train squealed to a stop.

“Sure,” Bucky answered, still smiling. “If you’ll excuse us…” he nudged Steve who didn’t even bother looking at any of the girls before exciting the car, Bucky on his heels.

They left the station, walking in silence to Steve’s apartment.

“We should’ve just walked,” he grumbled.

“Oh, come on, Steve,” Bucky teased. “I think the brunette was eyein’ you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

Steve looked over at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. He was looking earnestly back, a slight frown on his face.

“Buck—”

“Sometimes I think you see what you want to see instead of what’s actually goin’ on.”

Steve scoffed. “Is that so?”

“You just don’t see yourself right, Steve.”

“Oh, and you do?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then, pray, enlighten me, Professor Barnes,” Steve said with another eye roll. 

Bucky looked down at Steve with narrowed eyes. “You sell yourself too short sometimes, Steve. And I dunno if it’s because you really think like that or because you just haven’t let yourself feel anything different.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asked, fiery.

“Steve, stop. I’m not tryin’ to upset you, alright?”

“Then what _are_ you trying to do?”

Bucky let out a loud sigh, lowering his voice to a hissed whisper. “Goddammit, Steve, I’m trying to tell you that you’re a real catch, okay? You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re kind…you’re good looking. Why is it such a shock, thinkin’ ‘bout a dame being sweet on you? It just really burns me up that you don’t get that. Or if you do, you don’t act like it.”

Steve flushed and looked away, hiding his face. “I don’t mean to be short with you,” he said, readjusting the blankets on his arm. “I just think sometimes _you_ see what you wanna see, not what’s actually goin’ on.”

Bucky furrowed his brows and crossed his arms.

They walked up the steps to the Rogers’ apartment. Steve gave the blankets another shake and hung them on the rail as Bucky grabbed the spare key from under a brick on the front walk and unlocked the door. Sarah was working another evening shift at the hospital and wasn’t due home for six more hours.

Kicking off his shoes, Steve groaned, “I feel like I’ve got sand in about every one of my nooks and crannies.”

Bucky laughed. “I’m with you, pal. A hot bath sounds real swell right now.”

Steve looked shyly at Bucky, wringing his hands together. “You wanna…wanna take one? Right now? With me?”

Bucky stared back, slowly grinning. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Steve smiled and took Bucky’s hand, pulling him into the small bathroom at the end of the hall. They peeled off their damp suits, sand raining down onto the tile floor. Steve plugged the drain and ran the bath. He was knelt on the floor at the side of the tub, looking at Bucky.

“What’re you leerin’ at?” Bucky asked playfully.

Steve’s gaze slid from Bucky’s groin to his face. “You got sand in all your nooks and crannies too.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, rubbing at his inner thighs. “Yeah. Feels like it.”

Steve smiled and turned the water off. Standing next to each other, naked, they both looked down at the small tub.

“How’s this gonna work?” Bucky asked.

“Um,” Steve tilted his head to the side, calculating. “You get in first.”

Bucky stepped into the tub, blowing out a long breath as his legs hit the hot water. He settled down, back resting against the end of the tub, legs splayed out along either side. Steve crossed his arms and tilted his head the other way.

He hesitantly stepped inside, between Bucky’s legs. Turning carefully to the left, Steve faced Bucky, bracing his hands on either edge of the tub. He eased down, quickly realizing that he filled the tub too high for two people.

“Wait!” Bucky called.

“Oh, it’s just water,” Steve replied with a scoff as he squatted down all the way.

The top two inches of water splashed out and onto the floor, spreading the sand around the room.

“Okay, that’s a little bit more than I thought,” Steve said as Bucky laughed.

Steve backed up against the opposite side of the tub and tried to relax his legs, straightening them out towards Bucky. One of them slipped and Steve accidentally kicked Bucky right between his thighs. Steve’s hands flew to his face and his eyes widened, watching as Bucky let out a yelp, dropped his head, and brought his knees together.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

Bucky braced a hand along the edge of the tub and glared at Steve, puffing out a long breath. Pressing his lips together, Steve tried not to laugh as Bucky rested his legs down again.

“Okay, why don’t you try putting your legs on top of mine instead?” Bucky grumbled. Steve began to move before Bucky shouted, “Wait!” And cupped his hands in front of his crotch. “Okay, go.”

Steve playfully glared at him before shifting around, lying his legs on top of Bucky’s. He scooted forward, splashing even more water out and onto Bucky, squeaking against the porcelain before resting his feet on either side of Bucky’s butt, knees slightly bent.

“God, Steve,” Bucky said, laughing. “Could you make more of a mess?”

Steve smiled. “That a challenge?”

“No!” Bucky answered, finally removing his hands from his groin to hold them up, protecting his face from more splashes.

“Oh, stop,” Steve laughed, pulling at Bucky’s hands.

Bucky grinned before making an awkward face and shifting around, bending and straightening his legs around Steve.

“This isn’t very comfortable, is it?” Steve smiled.

“No,” Bucky chuckled.

“Okay.” Steve carefully pulled his legs back and turned around, splashing and squeaking all over again. Leaning backwards, Steve rest his back against Bucky’s chest, nestled between his legs. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, ducking down to kiss one of them.

“This is better.” Bucky smiled against Steve’s warm skin.

Steve put his hands over Bucky’s arms and laid his head back. Closing his eyes, Steve smiled slowly. “Much better.”

\--

If Steve had to describe his perfect summer, it would look exactly like this one.

He and Bucky spent day after day together. When Sarah worked nights, Bucky was in Steve’s bed every time, sleeping, laughing, sighing, moaning. They got milkshakes every Friday, sitting at the soda fountain counter, listening to music and people watching. They went to Coney Island and Rockaway Beach and Riis Park, going on rides over and over again and eating too many hot dogs to count.

Steve’s absolute favorite days, though, were the quiet ones spent home alone together. It wasn’t just the kisses, touches and climaxes that made them wonderful, but the inside jokes, comfortable silences, and intimate confessions.

On a Sunday night in June, they spent three hours with Becca, listening to her favorite radio shows in the Barnes’ living room

On Steve’s birthday, Bucky came over for dinner and spent the night, Steve bringing couch cushions into his room just for show in front of his mother, mumbling at Bucky to be extra quiet that night.

On a Wednesday afternoon in July, a thunderstorm rolled in and Steve and Bucky stayed inside with the phonograph on and ate an entire wacky cake, just the two of them.

On a hot Thursday in August, when being indoors was stifling, Steve sat in the shade of Prospect Park, sketching Bucky who napped next to him, a desperately needed breeze fluttering his bangs around.

It was one of the nights Sarah was at work and Steve was lying in bed, tucked under Bucky’s arm, his cheek and hand resting gently on Bucky’s chest. Bucky was taking log, slow breaths, not quite asleep yet, but close. Steve buried his face into Bucky’s warm t-shirt, closing his eyes and taking in the smell of him: soap, cinnamon, and pheromones that Steve had come to associate with happiness and love.

“Buck?” He whispered.

“Yeah?”

Steve sighed and swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

Bucky stared at the top of Steve’s head. “For what?”

“For bein’ you. And for…and for bein’ with me. So much.”

“Shoot, Steve, don’t thank me for that. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be.”

“You sure?”

Bucky paused long enough for Steve to readjust, looking back to see if Bucky had finally fallen asleep. He hadn’t and was looking at Steve with an upset expression.

“What?” Steve asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he answered firmly.

“I’m sorry—”

“No, don’t say that either,” Bucky interrupted. “Don’t be sorry for feelin’ how you feel, but you have t’ trust me.”

“I do,” Steve pushed up onto his elbow, looking intently at Bucky. “Of course I trust you.”

“Then stop thinking you’ve somehow tricked me into this.”

“I don’t think that.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, giving Steve an unbelieving look.

Steve faltered. “I don’t think that _all_ the time…”

Bucky took Steve’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and sighed, silent for a few moments before he said, “you’re so pretty, you know that? Them big baby blues o’ yours and those pink lips. This sweet, beautiful doll face...heart starts racin’ every time I look at you.”

Steve blushed, but maintained eye contact, the look on Bucky’s face pure adoration.

“You need to go to sleep,” Steve teased. “You’re startin’ to get loopy.”

“Nah,” Bucky answered, searching into Steve’s eyes with an intense expression that made Steve feel naked and exposed. “I feel more awake than I’ve ever felt my whole life.”


	4. December

DECEMBER 1934

 

As the summer had slowly faded into fall, both Steve and Bucky got increasingly melancholy.

Bucky would stare at nothing a lot, unseeing, as he thought about what graduation would bring.

Steve would watch him, thinking about every impossible thing—holding hands in public, kissing without hiding, telling their families. He agonized over their future together, but whenever he tried to talk to Bucky about it, he’d brush it off with kisses and a ‘that ain’t a problem for right now, Steve.’ But Steve thought it _was_ a problem for right now because if not now, when?

What he didn’t tell Bucky was about his daydreams of being together forever. Steve knew they’d never be able to get married, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t live together, committed and loving, for the rest of their lives. But if Bucky didn’t even want to talk factually about their not-relationship now, he’d never be able to have a more serious conversation about their future. It made Steve relieved and disappointed at the same time.

They fell into a sad new normal. Bucky was in his own head more than Steve had ever seen before, but neither of them would talk about it. Steve got used to Bucky being a little quieter, but he couldn’t get used to how little Bucky seemed to laugh now. A summer of dreams turned into an autumn of uncertainty which bled into a winter of heartache.

A week before New Year’s, Bucky’s parents announced that an old friend of Mr. Barnes’ would be visiting for the holiday with his family. An old friend who conveniently had a daughter the same age as Bucky. A daughter who Bucky happened to have had a crush on as a kid.

At first, Steve wasn’t worried. He didn’t even think twice about it until Bucky cancelled one of their Friday soda shop visits. That was fine. Bucky’s family had guests they were hosting, it made sense that at some point, Bucky would need to fill familial obligations, Steve wasn’t going to be mad about that.

When Bucky and Steve met up at the candy store the next day, everything seemed normal and Bucky even invited Steve to Sunday dinner.

“I dunno, Buck,” he replied, looking down a row of taffy jars. “Won’t that look funny?”

“Why would it?” Bucky asked, sneaking a small caramel out of a giant jar and popping it in his mouth. “You’ve come over for dinner plenty of times.”

“Yeah, but not with some whole other family there. And besides…” Steve trailed off, wandering down the row of jars.

When Steve didn’t continue, Bucky sighed and crossed his arms. “And besides what, Steve?”

He hesitated, but eventually looked into Bucky’s eyes, unflinching. “I don’t want to see you around Anna.”

Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes. “What d’you think is gonna happen? You think I’m gonna grab her and take her right there, in front of our parents?”

Steve shot Bucky an irritated glare. “I don’t know _what_ you’re going to do, Bucky, that’s the problem.”

“You know, it really hurts my feelings when you don’t trust me like that,” Bucky said seriously.

“Oh, come on, Buck,” Steve sighed, not wanting to be made out to be the bad guy. Not with this. “She’s staying in your house and you have a history. You can’t tell me that if she came knockin’ on your door some night, you wouldn’t answer.”

“Our ‘history’ was from when we were eight, first of all. And secondly, do you think I’d really do that?” When Steve didn’t answer, Bucky continued. “Come on, Steve, it’ll be fine, I swear. No funny business.”

Steve thought for a minute, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. “Fine. But you promise me, James Barnes, that you won’t do anything stupid.”

Bucky put his arms up. “I won’t.”

When Sunday evening rolled around, Steve didn’t feel any better about dinner. At six o’clock, he put on a nice shirt, tie, and jacket, said goodbye to his mom and headed over to the Barnes.’ Becca answered the door after Steve knocked and she gave him a tight hug around the waist.

“How’s it been?” He asked her quietly.

She rolled her eyes. “You know how he is.”

Steve nodded. Yes, he did know how Bucky was and that was precisely why he didn’t really want to be there.

Everyone besides the mothers were sitting in the living room, chatting lightly. After shrugging out of his coat and scarf, Steve turned the corner. He didn’t feel much better, looking at Bucky sitting on the sofa, an arm resting along the back behind a lounging Anna. She was beautiful, Steve had to admit. Her hair was of a similar color to Bucky’s and it was cropped short, set in perfect waves. She had blue eyes, like Steve, which were staring intently at Bucky’s face as he animatedly told a story about a baseball game of his this past season.

Steve stood in the entryway, uncomfortable. Noticing his discomfort, sweet thirteen year old Becca cleared her throat and said, “hey, big brother, look who’s here.”

Bucky’s eyes slid quickly from Anna’s face, to her chest, then finally to Steve. “Hey.”

Steve instantly wished he had stayed home.

Bucky made the proper introductions from his spot on the couch as Steve stood awkwardly on the opposite side of the room. Not long afterwards, Mrs. Barnes announced dinner was ready and they all took their seats at the dining room table. The fathers sat at the heads of the table, their wives at their right. Anna was next to her mother, followed by Bucky who was across from his mother. Becca was next to Mrs. Barnes and Steve next to her.

Inevitably, Anna’s father, who was also an engineer, began the probing questions into Bucky’s career path, asking if he knew what field he wanted to go into after school.

Bucky shrugged. “I’m not sure, Mr. Wilson,” he started. “But I know you’ll have nothing but positives to say about your line of work.”

He laughed in response, going off on a tangent about bridges that Steve didn’t bother listening to. He was too busy watching the way Anna was sneaking looks at Bucky…and he at her.

Mrs. Barnes flipped the question, asking Anna what her plans were after graduation, to which she dotingly replied that she was going to work in textiles until she found a nice husband to take care of her.

And that’s when the evening went from bad to worse.

Mrs. Wilson made an innocent comment about how Bucky seemed he would make a nice and successful husband, and it would be so sweet, going from childhood friends to husband and wife. Anna blushed and faked shyness, Steve could tell, as she looked at Bucky. He laughed along with all of them, putting a hand on her arm as he leaned in to say something teasingly at her. It continued, the planning of Anna and Bucky’s lives together. Steve knew it was mostly lighthearted dinner conversation between old friends, but it still hurt. And what made it that much more scathing was the passion with which Bucky agreed with everything, tacking on his own comments and suggestions.

After dinner, both sets of parents sat in the living room for coffee, inviting Bucky, Anna, and Steve to join them. By this point, Steve had had enough. He thanked Mrs. Barnes for cooking and hosting, said his polite “pleasure to meet yous” and headed for the door. He was halfway down the stoop, still buttoning his coat, when Bucky came barreling out after him.

“Steve? You okay? Why’re you leaving already?”

Whirling around, Steve glared venomously at Bucky. “Are you serious?”

Bucky rested a hip against the banister, crossing his arms. “Come on, you’re not actually upset about all that marriage talk, are you?”

“What the hell, Bucky? You said you weren’t gonna do anything stupid. And inviting me to dinner just to watch you fawn over some dame right in front of my face was about the stupidest thing you could’ve done.”

Bucky sighed. “Steve, come on, you know I didn’t mean any of it.”

“No, I don’t,” Steve shot back.

“Well, I didn’t,” Bucky replied in a more firm tone.

“Then maybe you should star in the pictures instead of being a big-shot engineer because you really had me fooled.”

Scoffing, Bucky looked away shaking his head. “What would you rather I’d’ve done, huh?” He asked, taking a step towards Steve and lowering his voice. “Tell ‘em I’m already taken? Tell ‘em that you are I are fixin’ to get married instead?”

“Don’t be like that,” Steve answered, flushing and irritated. “You could’ve at least not played it up so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered. “I just…” He trailed off, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath.

There was a long pause, neither of them speaking. Steve started to feel his throat tighten and he fought back tears as he motioned between them, asking, “D’you even want to keep doing this?”

Looking back at Steve with glassy eyes, Bucky sighed pressed his lips together. Small snowflakes began to fall, settling lightly in Bucky’s hair and on the shoulders of his sweater. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Says who?” Steve shot back.

Bucky ran his hands down his face, sniffling. “We don’t live in your fantasy world, Steve,” he growled from inside his palms. “What I want and what’s gonna happen are two different things.”

Steve hugged his arms around himself as the first tears finally fell. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Steve,” Bucky scoffed. “You know damn well what I mean.”

He did. Steve knew all _too_ well what Bucky meant. It was something Steve had been agonizing over for months. What were they doing? How long would it last? At what point would it start to look suspicious?

“Steve,” Bucky started, so quiet Steve almost didn’t hear him. He took a step down and wrung his hands together, trying to physically stop himself from reaching out and embracing Steve right there, out where anyone could see. Bucky’s throat felt tight. His chest hollow and empty as he looked at Steve with tears welling up in his eyes. His voice cracked. “We’ll never end up together. You know that.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, chin trembling. Bucky was right. No matter what they felt towards each other, it just wasn’t possible. Neither of them wanted to spend the rest of their lives in hiding, constantly at risk of arrest just for being together. And besides that, Bucky’s parents fully expected him to get a secure job, get married, and have a family. Mr. Barnes would never allow his son to be a _queer_.

The full realization of the conversation they were having hit Steve all at once and he dropped his face into his mittens, letting the tears flow freely. He felt Bucky place comforting hands on his shaking shoulders, but it just made Steve more upset. As Steve tried to calm himself down and collect his thoughts, he could hear Bucky from the step above him, sucking in erratic, hitched breaths. It was the most awful thing Steve had ever heard.

Steve finally forced himself to pull away, feeling Bucky’s hands dig tightly into the shoulders of his coat. He looked at Bucky, their red, wet eyes meeting. Steve tried to smile, tried to convince himself that any part of this was okay, but he couldn’t. No part of this was anywhere near okay.

They each wanted nothing more than to kiss each other right there, for the final time, to at least have some semblance of closure, but they both knew it was too risky. Bucky had half a mind to leap forward and do it anyway, but instead, he shakily took a few steps backwards, up to his front door.

Part of Steve wished he knew yesterday that their quick goodbye kiss was going to turn out to be their last.

They looked at each other, trying to savor the last moments of whatever it was they had been doing for the past two years. It was painfully bittersweet. Neither wanted to break eye contact first, but the longer they stood there, the more it hurt. Steve was finally the one to duck his head and walk away, shuffling down the sidewalk, leaving long, dragged out footprints in the light snow.

Bucky stayed on the stoop for another few minutes, watching Steve walk away, trying to calm down and get his face looking back to normal. The last thing he needed right now was for someone to ask if he had been crying. He took some deep breaths and gathered up a little snow from the bannister to press on his hot face. Sniffling one last time, he forced a pleasant expression on his face and went back inside.

It seemed to have worked because no one made any comments about Bucky looking upset. He politely excused himself from the living room, feigning exhaustion. He gave a lingering empty look at Anna before bounding up the stairs to his room.

It wasn’t until Bucky was undressed and tucked into bed that he let himself cry. He buried his face into a pillow as the tears flowed freely, nose running. It was the worst thing Bucky’s ever felt. Not only had he and Steve ended whatever it was they had, but it had been Bucky who initiated it. Knowing he was the reason for Steve’s sobs made Bucky cry even harder.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Bucky had spent the last few months silently agonizing over his and Steve’s situation. If Bucky could have it his way, they would be together forever, but that was never truly feasible. The reality of Bucky’s situation punched him in the gut over and over any time he thought about finishing school. Now was the time to plan for his future. There wasn’t any more time to dick around, playing at domestic bliss with Steve, when there were jobs and college and long term implications staring him in the face every damn day. Bucky needed to be realistic. He needed to grow up and make hard decisions, no matter how much they tore him up. That was just how it was. It was awful and cruel and unfair, but Bucky knew it had to happen eventually.

He just wasn’t quite prepared for how overwhelmingly terrible it would feel.

\--

Steve fumbled in his pockets, trying to find his house key with blurry eyes and numb fingers. Giving up, he knocked frantically at the door until his mother answered, looking at him with a concerned expression.

“Steve? What’s—”

He lunged at her, burying his face in the soft collar of her dress and wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. She stilled in surprise before slowly backing up to close the door and embraced Steve back, running a hand down the back of his head. She gently hushed him, stroking his hair as he cried into her neck.

“Steve, honey, what’s happened?” Sarah pulled away to catch Steve’s eye.

He shook his head instead of answering, rubbing roughly at his face with his knit mittens. She looked at him, pained, and let him go to change into pajamas as she made him a mug of tea. They sat in the living room together, silent, on either end of the sofa, until Steve started drifting off. Sarah took the mug out of his loose grip and led him to bed, tucking him in with a kiss on the forehead.

Steve felt silly, being babied so much by his mother at sixteen years old, but he needed it. He was too upset to care how it would’ve looked. He fell into a deep sleep surprisingly quick, but dreamt heartbreakingly about Bucky the entire night.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I'm so sorry to end this on such a sad note lol but obviously things will get better! I'm halfway through writing '35 now, so hang on a little while longer for me! 
> 
> In my other series, I mention that Bucky "breaks up" with Steve in 1938 basically for the same reason, but I feel like that's a realistic situation. He's reacting to his current situation both occasions and has "logically" come to the same, unfortunate, conclusion. I think that's fair. And they happen four years apart. 
> 
> Again, is the dialogue realistic? Idk. Do I care? Not at all. It's one of my favorite things to write so imma do whatever the fuck i want. 
> 
> Thanks for reading !!!! Hope to see you in 1935 soon...!


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